Hollywood

The Kid Just Has It

When a nice Canadian boy who likes to sing becomes the most popular 16-year-old on the planet, more or less overnight, everyone worries: his mother, his entourage, and Justin Bieber himself. As Bieber fever spreads—the best-selling book, the music awards, the 3-D movie (this month’s Never Say Never)—Lisa Robinson hears about full-throttle days and sleepless nights, plus the covert ops that keep the teenage pop phenom on the right side of crazy.

B*oardwalk Hall, Atlantic City, New Jersey, November 19, 2010:* Backstage in the old, freezing, cavernous venue that used to house the Miss America Pageant, Justin Bieber skateboards away from his massive red tour bus toward the door that will lead him to the stage. Out front are 15,000 nearly all female, hysterically obsessed fans (OMG!!!!! Bieber Fever!! Biebermania!! Beliebers!!), already waiting and already screaming. In the one year since the release of Justin Bieber’s debut album (My World), he’s become one of the most Googled people on the planet with more than one billion YouTube views, 6.3 million Twitter followers, and 16.5 million friends on Facebook. He has sold nine million albums worldwide, has a best-selling book (First Step 2 Forever: My Story), won four American Music Awards (including Artist of the Year), performed for President Obama twice, is one of Barbara Walters’s “Ten Most Fascinating People” of 2010, received two Grammy nominations, and this month will star in his own Jon Chu–directed 3-D movie, Never Say Never. It is possible that he is the highest-paid 16-year-old entertainer in the world, and in just his first year on the scene, estimates of his earnings exceed $100 million.

Now, wearing his white-and-purple stage outfit and purple Terry Kennedy Supra shoes, Justin flips around on his skateboard, spins and rotates, and while it’s not exactly Lords of Dogtown, he has some pretty good moves. It is a bit scary to watch this five-foot-seven-inch, slim, adorable franchise skateboard his way to the stage. But his closest and ever present companions—his 35-year-old mother, Pattie Mallette; 29-year-old manager, Scooter Braun; and 29-year-old bodyguard, Kenny Hamilton—all look slightly bemused and resigned. There is no holding this kid back.

“We first saw him on YouTube,” says Kaye D., a 12-year-old student at a Manhattan private school, “then we became addicted and watched all his videos all the time.” Adds Anya C., one of Kaye’s classmates, “It was because of his talent, and because he’s so cute. Also, I think it’s nice for a girl to hear songs from a boy’s perspective; it’s like he’s singing just to me.” Of course, it has always been this way on the teen-heartthrob circuit—from Frank Sinatra to Elvis Presley to the Beatles to the Jackson Five to Leif Garrett to ’NSync to the Jonas Brothers (whom Justin Bieber just may have put out of business). But why all the screaming? “Because you’re watching the videos and the pictures online and listening to the music,” says Kaye, “then, finally, you see him. And you just can’t help it—you’re screaming at the top of your lungs.”

Several hours before Justin’s Atlantic City concert, Pattie Mallette talks at length about her own rough youth. She suffered sexual abuse as a child, was “wild” as a teenager, had experiences with drugs and alcohol, and, at age 17, tried to commit suicide. It was while she was recovering in the hospital that, she says, she literally had a personal encounter with God and after that became a Christian. She is now convinced that she and Justin were put on earth to bring light and inspiration to the world. While she admits that it sounds “cheesy,” she clearly believes it, and although she’s a petite woman who looks more like a Justin fan than like his mother, she’s fiercely protective of her son. She’s savvy about the world of show business and says, “We don’t have yes-men around him. I don’t want him being a diva.”

Justin Bieber’s story starts in Canada with Pattie, who separated from Justin’s father when their son was 10 months old. (Justin still has a relationship with his father, 36-year-old Jeremy Bieber.) Pattie had several jobs, struggled financially, and brought her son up in the small town of Stratford, Ontario (home of the well-known Shakespeare festival). She says, “I always knew Justin was gifted. Even as a one-year-old who was barely standing, I remember him banging on tables, banging in rhythm.” Soon, he was singing along to her Boyz II Men albums, playing drums, picking up a guitar, and playing piano. When he was 12, he entered a singing contest, sang Aretha Franklin’s “Respect,” and won second prize. “I put up a little video on YouTube [under the name “kidrauhl”] for Grandma and some relatives to see,” Pattie says, “and the next thing we knew, all these strangers were clicking onto it, probably because they recognized the song. Then it was ‘Oh, he’s so cute,’ and then ‘Why don’t you sing this song or that song?’ I said [to Justin], ‘Oh, they want you to sing this song—let’s try.’ It was a horrible camera; I’m a terrible cameraman; it was awful sound, very raw video—but I put them up. Then it was ‘Oh look, honey, you have a hundred views.’ Then ‘Oh wow, a thousand views.’ … Next thing we knew, thousands and thousands of views. But it never once occurred to me that there would be a music career out of this.”

Even after Justin had tens of thousands of YouTube views of him singing cover songs (Alicia Keys, Ne-Yo, Lil’ Bow Wow) and people were crawling out of the woodwork trying to manage him, Pattie was suspicious. She’d seen Behind the Music, heard the cautionary tales, and was reluctant to get involved with what she feared was a sleazy music business. All the YouTube clips and activity caught the attention of Scooter Braun, a smart, hustling former party promoter and record executive in Atlanta, who had his own label and was managing the rapper Asher Roth. By his own admission, Scooter practically stalked Pattie, trying to persuade her to bring Justin to Atlanta: “I saw this little white kid from Canada singing an R&B song, and the tone was crazy. I knew the moment I saw the guy, from day one, what had to happen. Everything in my gut told me that this kid and I could do something special.”

After winning Pattie’s trust (and getting Pattie and Justin to come to Atlanta), Braun took Justin to Usher—not only because Usher could help give Justin a stamp of approval in the black community to sing soul-based pop music, but also, says Scooter, “to be able to mentor Justin, to talk to him about what he’s going through, what he’s living. You can’t fully understand what this is like unless you’ve lived it, and Usher went through it himself when he was signed by [Island/Def Jam chief] L. A. Reid at 14.” According to Usher, “You could immediately tell that this [was] a kid who has style—he’s a hip kid. It was the antithesis of Disney and Nickelodeon. And given that I started my own career with him, I couldn’t think of a better person to bring [Justin] to than L. A. Reid.”

Of course, things are never quite that simple; Scooter says that all the geniuses at the major record labels he initially approached turned Justin down (the same thing that happened to, among others, the Beatles and U2). It’s a great list: Execs who pride themselves on their “ears” questioned Justin’s sex appeal. Others never got the chance to bid, because Scooter couldn’t get past lesser A&R employees. A bidding war of sorts eventually ensued between Usher’s production company and Justin Timberlake’s. Braun decided to go with Usher—who took Bieber to L. A. Reid. Usher recalls, “I knew what L.A. was gonna do—the same thing he did to me. Let’s bring in employees and we want to see how he reacts to women.” L. A. Reid, who has worked with Outkast, Pink, Rihanna, Kanye West, Mariah Carey, and a host of others, remembers that at first he noticed Justin’s face. “He’s got the hot face. Yes, I put the face first—that’s crazy, right? But then this little kid, he’s sitting in my office, he’s playing guitar, he’s talkative, he’s charming, and I fell for him. I thought he was amazing. But I also saw beyond that first step. I think he’s the kid who [will] go beyond the teenage puppy-love thing; he’s the kid that they grow with. He’s special.”

In just the two years since that audition, Justin Bieber has already gone beyond the baby steps. For a white kid from Canada, even with the teenybopper fans and the melodic, catchy pop songs and the Justin doll and his own fragrance and a nail-polish line (with colors “inspired” by his music and a portion of the proceeds, as well as some from ticket sales, going to charity), he has the respect and musical collaboration of some of today’s edgiest rappers. Ludacris raps on Justin’s huge hit “Baby.” (“When I first heard the song I thought … instant hit,” Ludacris says.) Kanye West did a remix of Justin’s “Runaway Love” that features the Wu-Tang Clan’s Raekwon. Lil Wayne did a remix of “One Time.” Justin, whose favorite artists include Tupac Shakur and Michael Jackson, has appeared on BET (Black Entertainment Television). He’s got his own headphones, JustBeats, a collaboration with Dr. Dre. A huge Lakers fan, Justin had dinner alone with Kobe Bryant, who reportedly advised him, “Don’t take any shit from anybody.” Justin shot hoops and had a dance-off with Shaquille O’Neal on Shaq’s TV show last summer and came across as a sophisticated, smart kid. He can act—a stint on CSI was more than respectable, and his skits with Tina Fey on Saturday Night Live were funny. He can break-dance and do “the Dougie”; he can learn or mimic something in a minute; he can solve a Rubik’s Cube in less than two minutes. When Scooter taught him the Hebrew prayer the Sh’ma, Justin incorporated it into the before-show group prayer on a nightly basis. He’s a phenomenon. This is not your typical teen idol.

Later, in one of several private talks, Justin tells me, “I’m crazy, I’m nuts.” What does that mean?, I ask. “Just the way my brain works,” he says. “I’m not normal. I think differently—my mind is always racing. I’m just … nuts. But I think the best ones probably are.” Who are the best ones? “Oh … the Beatles. Michael Jackson. Tupac.” He asks me if it’s true that John Lennon recorded “Dear Prudence” stoned, lying on the floor in the recording studio. He tells me with a straight face that he’d love to take LSD before a show, just to see what would happen, then tells me that was a joke. He wants to go to the moon, he says, to outer space, but wants to wait until it’s 100 percent safe—well, maybe 90 percent safe. He currently lives in Atlanta (according to his mother, “Our stuff lives in Atlanta,” because they’re always on the road), is considering moving to Los Angeles, but says he hasn’t really found the perfect spot for himself yet. He tells me that these days it’s very hard for him to trust people. He won’t admit it, but just like any star with a huge hit, he’s probably tired of singing “Baby,” but knows he can’t get off the stage without doing it. He says he doesn’t get lonely: he can be by himself and it’s fine. He’s claustrophobic; he doesn’t like elevators. He isn’t exactly afraid of the dark, but doesn’t like it when there’s no light on when he’s trying to sleep. He gets headaches. Some days he’s just overwhelmed, and he’s told Scooter that sometimes he just wishes he could “throw erasers at teachers’ heads.” He hated school, he has a tutor on the road with him, he doesn’t read much, but he has the best-seller Rich Dad Poor Dad on his bus because Will Smith told him to read it. He wears Invisalign braces and takes them out when they’re too tight; he also loses them sometimes—when he eats they often wind up in a napkin. He knows girls scream because he’s Justin Bieber, but he also thinks some of them might scream because “they think I’m good-looking. Not trying to be arrogant, but if I walked down the street and a girl saw me, she might take a look back because maybe I’m good-looking, right?” He’s hyper; he’s an athlete—he’s played hockey and golf and by all accounts is excellent at both. In a way, he reminds me of the very young Michael Jackson: with a direct, focused gaze and a keen curiosity, just like Michael did, he asks me almost as many questions as I ask him.

In their frenzy to try to get their daughters to Justin, Pattie Mallette says, the mothers are worse than the girls. At Justin’s Izod Center show at New Jersey’s Meadowlands, two nights before Atlantic City, I actually witness a middle-aged woman toss a bra onstage. Security chief Kenny Hamilton says he’s had mothers make sexual advances to him to try to get their daughters closer to Justin. Then there are the hordes of paparazzi—one knocked Pattie to the ground in New Zealand—and people who scream out derogatory things to Justin, and near riots when security isn’t sufficient. In the midst of it all, there is an effort for Justin to have some sort of semblance of a private life. “I feel like I’ve become an expert at covert operations,” says Hamilton about “friends” (girls) who sneak in to visit Justin on the mandatory one to three days off a week that he gets to just “be a kid.”

The “Where Are They Now?” file is replete with teen idols from the past who are deceased and/or forgotten. Meltdowns, public crack-ups, rehab, heroin, jail, D.U.I.’s, spousal abuse, head shaving, and panty-less forays into the TMZ night abound. The 1990s boy bands New Kids on the Block (with the fine actor Donnie Wahlberg, who certainly should know better) and the Backstreet Boys will team up for a joint summer tour, but, really, who cares? The 1970s tartan-clad Scottish hitmakers Bay City Rollers disintegrated when their manager was involved in a string of scandals, including failing to pay millions in royalties and allegations that he slept with a boy in the band. Lou Pearlman, the man behind the Backstreet Boys and ’NSync, was arrested for defrauding investors and accused of sexual “misconduct” with members of the bands he managed. David Cassidy, star of the 1970s TV hit The Partridge Family and a best-selling recording artist, has battled alcohol abuse. “I gave up my whole life to my career,” Cassidy says. “Stars weren’t available then on DVD or the Internet, so when they saw you, they were overwhelmed. I had no personal life.” And the 1980s recording artist (“Jessie’s Girl”) and actor (General Hospital) Rick Springfield has recently written a memoir (Late, Late at Night) and says, “At a young age it’s likely you’ll fall for the praise and adulation and really start thinking you’re the shit and can do no wrong when really you’re just another jerk—or at least I was. A strong family tie is very important. And a great lawyer.” Those who have made it out alive from teen stardom to legitimate grown-up careers include Leonardo DiCaprio, Johnny Depp, and Michael Jackson, who, while he didn’t make it out alive, had a fairly successful adult career until it all got weird. Justin Timberlake has been successful in music and acting (especially comedic acting), and Usher is a multi-platinum artist who considers Justin Bieber “my little brother.”

Boardwalk Hall, Atlantic City: The sign outside Justin’s locked dressing room says mozart. Inside is a flat-screen TV and XBox (he likes NBA 2K11, Call of Duty: Black Ops, Madden NFL 11, and Marvel vs. DC), a table with Saran-wrapped cold cuts, lettuce, tomato slices, honey, lemon, Yogi Throat Comfort, several types of packaged bread, mixed nuts, Vitaminwater, and cranberry juice. Not a beer or a bottle of wine in sight—not anywhere backstage, not even in the catering room for the crew. Justin rarely comes in here—he prefers his bus, with its large back bedroom adorned with Tupac and Beatles posters and a Michael Jackson sticker on the mirror. According to his vocal coach, Jan “Mama Jan” Smith, who has worked with Usher, Jennifer Nettles, Rob Thomas, and many others, Justin does his vocal warm-ups on the bus when she’s around and tries to get out of doing them when she’s not. But his voice is changing due to puberty, and she got Usher through that, so she’s confident Justin will make the transition as well.

Justin Bieber is actually better-looking in person than in photographs. And his hair is in that perfect swoop-around—the style perfected by Vanessa Price, who first cut it when she worked on his debut-album cover shoot. Justin’s hair was longer and scruffier then, and, Vanessa says, he was resistant at first to the cut. But now he won’t let anyone else cut it. They have plans, she hints, for an eventual change—although he knows he can’t do it now: it’s a trademark, even teenage boys who don’t come to his shows copy the style, and to change it would be crushing to his fans. Vanessa jokes that she should have patented the “pop-star wig” for Halloween, and there is even a Web site called “Lesbians Who Look Like Justin Bieber,” with photos sent in from those with the Bieber “do.”

It’s several hours before the Atlantic City show is due to start and Justin is exhausted. He was up all night because he’d had an injection the day before for some throat problems and it caused insomnia. That morning he taped Extreme Makeover: Home Edition with a girl whose sister had died while texting and driving. Then he did what he does before every concert: a sound check in front of fans who had bought special $349.50 tickets to watch what was kind of a mini-performance—with Scooter and stylist Ryan Good tummeling the crowd, and the band and dancers doing bits before Justin appears. Then those same fans—anywhere from 200 to 500—are herded one by one through a small backstage tent where Justin stands (with Kenny Hamilton watching over him) and poses for a photo with each girl (the photos can be retrieved later online). It would be a grueling ordeal for anyone, but Justin still has his game face on. Now he sits across from me on a sofa and we talk. Later, he will tweet that he just did “the best interview I have ever done.” I do not ask him about his favorite color (it might be purple, but I don’t care), the music on his iPod (Boyz II Men, the Beatles, Tupac Shakur, Bob Dylan, many others), his iPad applications (Angry Birds, Photoshop, Twitter, Skype), or whether he has a girlfriend. He has been linked to and photographed with performers such as Miley Cyrus, Selena Gomez, and Jasmine Villegas, but he keeps his private life private—lest he destroy his fans’ fantasies. The “kid” sitting in front of me is a huge flirt; he even flirts with every older woman who has ever interviewed him, which means every woman who has ever interviewed him—including Barbara Walters and Oprah Winfrey, both of whom appeared to fall under his spell. He likes pranks; he once locked a TV producer in a closet, tossed water balloons in the vicinity of a policeman, and now throws candy at Scooter. He’d be great as the host of Punk’d.

I mention that he’s singing black pop music, and he says, “Music is music, and I’m definitely influenced by Michael Jackson and Boyz II Men and people who were black artists—that’s what I like. But I like their voices and I like how they entertain—it’s not about what color they are.” When asked if he sees a conflict between marketing a doll of himself and having the Wu-Tang Clan’s Raekwon on a remix of one of his songs, he says, “I think that’s what’s so special about it [all]. Michael [Jackson] was able to reach audiences from young to old; he never limited himself. He was so broad, everybody loved him, and that’s what my goal is—to basically make people happy, to inspire them, and to have everyone root for me.” He’s aware that boys don’t come to his shows because, he says, “for younger guys, it’s like [they think] they’re not cool if they come to my concert. That’ll [change], I think; it’ll happen, maybe when I’m 18. But meanwhile all their girlfriends are coming to watch me.” He adds, “Of course, I think that people are just waiting for that time when I make a mistake and they’re gonna jump on it. There’s gonna be so many people that are gonna try to bring me down. There’s gonna be haters. People are just waiting for me to personally mess up. But I’m just a regular person. I’m going to make mistakes—everybody makes them. I don’t think I’m perfect, by any means. But I’ve got such a great family, such great people surrounding me, that I know I’m not going to make a life-changing bad decision, as some people have. I’ve seen it happen too many times. I could be my own worst enemy, but I don’t want to mess this up.”

We talked about what he does when he has insomnia. “I just turn over all night and think. My mind races. I think about all the things I didn’t have time to think about during the day—like family and God and things that should be more important but you don’t have time to think about, because you just get caught up [in everything else] during the day.” How does he see his future? “I see myself just growing. I didn’t know that any of this was really possible. I grew up in a really small town with not a lot of money, and I liked singing, but it was just something that was a hobby. And as I get into it more, I want to grow as an artist, as an entertainer, and basically perfect my craft. I want to be the best that I can be.”

Justin Bieber’s concerts feature lights, lasers, elaborate production, and the star carried across the audience in silver hearts, balls, and contraptions that even Mick Jagger or Bono would envy. Justin sings his hits, he dances, his drumming is impressive, and he’s just an absolute all-around charmer as an entertainer. At the end of the show he gives a shout-out to various people in the audience (including a row of revelers wearing i’m in atlantic city bitch! T-shirts—to whom he points and notes, “Ah … profanity over there”). I turn to Justin’s proud grandfather Bruce Dale, who watches from the side of the stage, and ask him if he ever envisioned this for his grandson. “No,” he says emphatically. “Never. He was supposed to be a hockey player.”

T__he London Hotel, New York City, November 26, 2010:__ It’s the day after Thanksgiving, and Justin has already done the Today show and a photo shoot and is scheduled to do one-on-one interviews to promote that day’s release of the My Worlds Acoustic album, which contains unplugged versions of his earlier songs. It’s been released either to sell something to the fans for Christmas or to prove he can sing unadorned, or both. Later, he’ll go to Barnes & Noble on Fifth Avenue, where the lines are already around the block for him to sign copies of First Step 2 Forever: My Story. Since I last saw him, he performed in Los Angeles at the American Music Awards (and nabbed four trophies), did shows in Montreal and Toronto, and had two days off for Thanksgiving. I ask him if he has any control over his schedule. “Not as much as I should have,” he replies, but then adds, “It’s hard to really balance myself. A regular kid, if he catches the flu, he just gets to go home. But I can’t do that. A lot of people are counting on me, so I have to really choose what to do and what not to do. Because everything is important. But, you know, my sanity is important, too. Even if I’m angry, I’ll just put a smile on my face and fake it. I don’t often fake it—what’s me is me. But I know that to be the best I can be will take a lot of work. I know I have to give up a lot of myself, or a lot of a private life. But the saying ‘Practice makes perfect’ really does make sense. The more you practice, the better you get. But the more you practice, the less time you have to be normal. And I want to be normal. Well, not normal, but I want to have some sort of normalcy. I don’t want to go crazy.”

Lisa RobinsonPrior to joining Vanity Fair in 1999, contributing editor LISA ROBINSON was a longtime music columnist for the New York Post, The New York Times Syndicate, the host of syndicated radio and cable TV shows, and edited several rock magazines.